


she finds me (in all my quiet places)

by AvaRosier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, d/s spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa found Clarke's ad on the internet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she finds me (in all my quiet places)

“I asked you to do a simple thing.” The disappointment in Clarke’s tone is evident in spite of the lack of inflection in her voice.  Lexa swallows. It doesn't seem right that Clarke is wearing a plain t-shirt and a loose pair of jeans. As if they're just having a lazy afternoon in rather than...than... The sudden silence in the room is oppressive.

“I know.” She acknowledges at last.

Clarke sets her cup down on the saucer with a decisive clink that feels punitive somehow. Lexa holds herself ramrod straight on the couch as Clarke stands up and moves until she’s near her dining room table. In the early afternoon light, her pale hair seems to glow. She looks as though she’s debating something in her head.

“You came to me because you wanted something specific. Do you think maybe you need some extra help getting to that place?” She inquires, and Lexa is mollified to see nothing but understanding in Clarke’s blue eyes. She swallows thickly and considers what Clarke is proposing.

“Yes, I think it might help.” It's hard, letting go of her pride. Maybe it would be easier with Clarke, since she is practically a stranger at this point. 

“Okay. Come here.” The command is given softly, but to Lexa it seems to echo.  Something in her seems to loosen and slide apart and in half a daze, she sets her own cup down on its saucer and stands up to obey.  There’s an odd excitement, a strange pleasure in walking over to Clarke, to be able to approach and stand near her.

They had talked about this online, and over the phone, for well over a week—outlining things like desires and limits. Clarke’s voice,  _god_. It had been so unexpectedly low and raspy, Lexa had barely hung up before she was sliding her hand down her panties to finger herself to orgasm.

She’s slightly taller than Clarke, but those things never mattered. Clarke finally touches her then; light fingers brushing her curls over her shoulder amid helpless shivers and curls a firm hand around her bicep before dropping down to her hips. She stands as still as she dares, breathing in slow but shallowly, as Clarke squeezes the cheeks of her ass. The act propels her forward against the front of Clarke's body, pressing their breasts together. The steady exhale of air on her mouth tells Lexa that Clarke is in complete control of herself. The thought both frustrates her and excites her. 

“Why don’t you take your clothes off, hmm?” Clarke tells her with an encouraging uptick to her eyebrows. Lexa needs to keep her mouth open so she can get enough oxygen as her chest tightens at the very thought. But she inclines her head and reaches slightly trembling fingers up to unbutton her top, sliding it off her shoulders before reaching for her trouser clasp. She can’t help darting her eyes up to Clarke’s as she reaches behind her back to unsnap her bra and wriggle her way out of her panties.

Clarke’s eyes on her breasts and on the thatch of messy hair between her thighs leaves her warm even in the cool air. Clarke steps up, close enough that Lexa can feel the tease of clothes against her naked body; nipples tightening as they brush against nylon/cotton blend. Arms curl around her, hands caressing the line of her spine, and Lexa can only stare into Clarke’s eyes as she tries not to give herself wholly over to the sensations. Her breath puffs out heavily against Clarke’s lips when those hands cup her bottom and squeeze intently.

“Clarke,” she moans, hands clenching before she reaches out to touch Clarke’s shoulders.

“No. I need you to bend over, Lexa.” She informs Lexa, her touch still warm and comforting. “Just bend over the table and I’ll get you to where you need to be.”

It’s frightening how Clarke seems to have figured her out. That it wasn’t really about the punitive nature of dominance and submission for Lexa—that it was the resolutely caring that would pull her apart at the seams.

Lexa seems to shake as she turns around and bends over the table, gasping from the contact of cool wood against her breasts and stomach. She’s so exposed like this, so…

What would her parents, with their Hartford country club and Yale degrees think if they could see her now? Her friends, who were cut from the same cloth?

They had discussed this in depth, Clarke and her. At any time she can say the words and stop this.  _Tree_. But she doesn’t because she’s been thinking of this for weeks. Months. She’s rattling around in the cage of her life, burdened by the responsibilities foisted upon her and she needs something transformative. So she keeps silent.

Clarke lets her palm rest over the curve of Lexa’s ass, letting the warm weight turn her complacent. Lexa can’t help arching her back against the touch.

_Thwack!_

She lets out an ungainly yelp even as her entire body jolts and her hips bump against the wood. Nearly every instinct inside her is yelling at her to stand up and push Clarke away with angry remonstrance. Nearly. The rest of her is tensing once more in anticipation of another spank.

And they come, raining down upon each cheek, her upper thighs, her hips as Lexa squirms both away from and towards it. Her mind seems to be little more than a high-pitched whine, unable to slow down to process what’s happening, and her chest is tight once again. She’s making these animal noises, barely receiving any respite even when Clarke chooses to rub the reddened flesh in a soothing caress.

 _Tree_! She thinks. _Say ‘Tree’!_

Finally…

Finally it stops and Lexa is nearly sobbing, her mind absolutely blank for once in her life. “Please,” she breathes. “ _Please_ , Clarke.”

Clarke steps up behind her, fitting her hips against the curve of Lexa’s back. The relative roughness of her denim jeans is abrasive against the raw skin of Lexa’s ass. That low, raspy voice sounds again, and it tells her:

“Fuck yourself against me.”

She’s already doing it. Lexa has no shame left as she rotates her bottom back against the seam of Clarke’s jeans. It’s not until now that she realizes she’s wet. And so unbearably aroused. Just sliding her clit along the zipper nearly has her coming.

Clarke pulls her hips back until she’s not pressed against the table, giving her enough space to reach under and stroke Lexa’s belly before pressing lower.  Right now, she’d let Clarke do anything she wanted to her.

Lexa stares at the grain of the wood with half-seeing eyes and holds her palms flat against the table as if it’ll give her purchase as those first fingers glide through her vulva, bumping against her clitoris. This thing she’s been reduced to, this  _creature_ , it only widens its stance and jerks against the probing touch because it knows exactly what it needs.

Clarke wastes no time rubbing her fingers steadily over Lexa’s clit. “Come, now.”

Lexa had always been the instigator, the one who decided whom she’d fuck, when, and how. But now, given the  _permission_  to climax, her orgasm seems to rip through her without preamble. The contractions nearly make her collapse against the table  but she’s pushing herself back against it, pushing herself through the agony and the ecstasy.

Finally, it all quiets down and there is nothing but the sound of her heart pounding in her ears and Clarke’s quiet murmurs of comfort.  She’s aware of being borne back, of being turned around and held against another body. It makes her feel unexpectedly tender—something she hasn’t been since Costia had—had…

“May I kiss you?” Lexa asks.

“Yes, you may.”

So she does, hungrily. Without reservation.


End file.
